


The Barn Raising

by PoetryInMotion



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Vague mention of period-specific homophobia, but don't worry they don't take kindly to it, fluffy fluff fluff, lots of lovin, they're both so oblivious it hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetryInMotion/pseuds/PoetryInMotion
Summary: The Old West's barn has been demolished by a fetch-related accident. When they get a new one, the Western denizens throw a good old-fashioned barn-raising party. Jedediah decides to invite Octavius (and both secretly hope that they can kindle a romance between the do-si-do and the two-step).(Cross-posted to Fanfiction.com)
Relationships: Jedediah & Octavius (Night at the Museum), Jedediah/Octavius (Night at the Museum)
Comments: 49
Kudos: 328





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Jedtavius piece, and I hope you enjoy it! I've put in a few cross-fandom references to keep things interesting. Some are more obvious than others--see if you can spot them!

The Western diorama hadn't been updated in quite some time, and for one solid reason: the Westerners were nothing if not self-sufficient. A creaky saloon door? That could be managed. Fence fallen down? Get a crew of two or three strong railwaymen, and it'll be fixed long before sunrise. But when the diorama's sole farmer, John Peters, had his barn demolished by a rib bone in a game of fetch gone awry, Mr. McPhee had to admit that a new barn would have to be ordered. Every Western town had to have some kind of sustenance, after all.

Jedediah, for one, refused to take the blame for the John Peters incident. He and Octavius hadn't been on fetch duty that night—Jedediah distinctly remembered Atilla running through the halls, waving the rib bone around his head like some kind of weapon, and his horde, and Rexy, following closely behind. They hadn't been in their usual spot either, that being at the front desk, roaring with laughter at kittens or Vines (or both). No, Jedediah and Octavius had a quieter night. They had decided to sit themselves around a campfire and break the silence only when they wished. Being the de-facto leader of an entire miniature society could be overwhelming, and sometimes, it was nice to simply exist next to a...friendly presence.

Jedediah hesitated to say 'friend'. Oh, there hadn't been a fight, or any dissonance in their relationship to speak of. In fact, they were closer than ever. But Jed had begun to wonder. Just...wonder. Maybe...there was something else.

But he shook that thought out of his head for now, his sandy locks shaking in tandem. Jed had business to attend to, after all.

Jed strode through the tunnel connecting the two dioramas (thanks to Larry, of course) and into the sunlight of Rome. Well, miniature Rome, anyway, but it was the only Rome they knew, and the only Rome they really ever needed. Jed never really got used to it; the transition between the untamed wilderness of the West, to the ordered lines and structures of Rome. But the Romans had become accustomed to him, and knew that Octavius had found a level of companionship with Jed that rivaled all of his other friendships.

Dammit, Jed thought, shaking his head again. Why did those thoughts always have some kind of slant to them when they came up? 

“Jedediah!” 

Jed looked in the direction of Octavius's voice, and noticed that the Roman was not wearing his helmet. It had been taken off recently, though, as his dark hair still lay flat against his head. Jed almost felt himself think about how he would like to muss it up a bit. He almost thought about how to play it off as just being friendly. 

“I was jus' lookin' for you, pardner!” Jed replied, ignoring the feeling of the knot in his stomach tightening when Octavius smiled that dag-blamed smile of his. Keep it down, Jed. Keep it down.

Octavius seemed completely oblivious to his inner thoughts—thank the Good Lord for that. “What's happened, Jed?”

“You know John Peters?”

“Ah, yes, the farmer. Has the new barn come in yet?”

How on Earth did he always somehow know what Jed was about to say? Keep it down, Jedediah Smith.

Jed couldn't help but chuckle. “Well, actually, that was what I wanted to talk to you about. The new barn jus' came in the mail, an' we're plannin' a barn-raisin' for tomorrow night.”

Octavius's brow furrowed a bit. “A barn-raising?”

Jed's smile broadened with excitement.

“Yeah! It's a big ol' party for a new barn. There's dancin', an' music, an' food, an' more drink than you can bat an eye to! And I was wonderin'...”

He paused as the lacksadaisical attitude of his speech ground to a halt. He sucked in a breath and hoped Octavius hadn't noticed.

“I was wonderin'...if you'd like to come. You know, jus' for the hell of it.”

Octavius nodded, smile widening.

“It would be an honor! Will the barn already be erected? If not, I could bring some of my men to help.”

“Naw, all we need is you, pal.” 

And, unbidden, Jed's hand reached up and ruffled Octavius's hair.

Jed froze. The knot in his stomach tightened further still, so far that he felt like Octavius could see it. How was it not obvious? How did Octavius not notice how bleedin' nervous he was? Quickly, he came up with an excuse.

“You really gotta loosen your helmet. Your hair's gonna get stuck like that.”

Octavius let out a laugh—was that...was there a little bit of nervousness behind that laugh? Dag nabbit, had he made him uncomfortable? How was he going to make it outta this one?

Luckily, Octavius found an excuse for him. “It's almost sunrise,” he said, looking over Jed's shoulder to the clock across the Hall of Miniatures.

Jed laughed, and hoped it didn't come across as relieved.

“Right. Guess I better get to goin'. See you tonight!” he said, rather more quickly than he'd hoped.

As he walked away, Jed released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

////

Octavius couldn't decide what to wear.

He usually didn't pay much mind to how he dressed. His armor had always suited him just fine—it was what the museum-going public wanted to see, after all. A strong Roman general, resplendent in armor, commanding his troops with ease and dignity. But that wasn't what was needed tonight.

At least, that's not what he thought was needed. He'd never heard of a barn raising before last night, and so had no idea what the etiquette was—not that that was his only motivation for choosing his mode of dress.

Jedediah was going to be there. In fact, Jedediah had asked him to be there.

What that meant, Octavius had no idea. He knew what he hoped Jed had meant. And he hoped it desperately. He had seen the slight blush on Jed's face when he'd asked—that alone was enough to give him some kind of hope for...well, if he wanted that to happen, he needed to dress the part.

No, not that, Octavius put aside his formal toga—the heavy purple one he wore when he spoke at the Forum. It was decidedly too much for the event, and for Jed. Without his armor, that left him with either his simple tunic or his lighter semi-formal toga, the one that he wore when he had feasts with his commanders. And he certainly wasn't going out dressed in what felt like his underwear.

That decided, he dressed. He decided on a simple gold clasp to hold it together—no need for extravagance. Jed had also mentioned dancing, so, after looking around to determine that no one was watching (not that they would be, anyhow), Octavius tested out his range of motion. He performed a couple little hop-skips, and a few other motions he assumed were part of cowboy-dancing. He felt absolutely ridiculous, but was satisfied that his toga wouldn't come flying off if he did decide to participate.

Octavius slipped his lyre into his satchel. Now that was something he was confident about. While his dancing could be hit-or-miss, Octavius was certain that he could participate in the music. He'd even written something just for the occasion, for the ears of John Peters only. He hoped he would like it.

A low whistle startled Octavius, and he whirled around to see Jedediah leaning against the door. Gods, he was looking good. He must've taken a bath, because his hair still looked damp under his cowboy hat. He'd never seen that shirt before, either—it fit him nicely. A bit too nicely for Octavius to feel casual about it.

“Ain't you lookin' fancy?” Jedediah said, his tone joking.

Octavius laughed nervously, gesturing to himself.

“Is it too much?” Octavius asked.

Jed shook his head emphatically.

“Nah, boy, you're perfect!”

Octavius's heart nearly jumped out of his chest. His throat tightened, and if he opened his mouth, he was certain that an undignified squeak would come out. So he kept his mouth shut. Perfect. Jedediah Smith had just called him perfect. Dear gods.

Jed didn't seem to notice either what he had said, or Octavius's reaction.

“What'cha got there?”

Octavius released his bated breath, and said, “Housewarming presents.”

“Now ain't that nice of you? I'm sure Peters'll appreciate that.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Octavius, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “Shall we?”


	2. Chapter 2

Did he just call Octavius perfect?

Jedediah hoped Octavius hadn't noticed. He seemed largely unfazed as they entered the tunnel, but it didn't comfort Jed much. He had just called Octavius perfect. Without meaning to, out of something akin to instinct, the same instinct that had led him to ruffle Octavius's hair last night, he had called Octavius perfect.

Not that Octavius wasn't perfect, of course. He'd never seen Octavius look so...formal. Without his armor, Jedediah could see how well-formed Octavius was. He subconsciously wondered if his armor's structure was accurate—if Octavius was just as perfectly sculpted as his chestplate.

He was distracted (thankfully, before he could develop a blush) by the ruckus as they entered the Western diorama. Not only were the denizens of the Western diorama self-sufficient, but they knew how to party. 

On the other side of the diorama, the new barn was pristine, and lit so that it practically glowed. A crowd milled in and around it, chatting and laughing, and there was the faint twang of guitars and banjos tuning up. The air smelled of bonfire smoke and more delicious foods than Jed could find the name of, though he could see a few spits of chickens over the smaller cookfire. He hoped there would be hoecakes, the thought of which made his stomach give a small grumble.

“So this is a barn-raising?” Octavius asked.

“Yessir, it is. Ain't nothin' like it,” Jed answered, feeling a proud warmth blooming in his chest.

A voice from behind them: “Hello, Jedediah!”

Two young women were coming up behind Jed and Octavius, the taller of whom had a hand raised in greeting. “Wait up for us!” the shorter cried.

Jed looked over his shoulder and politely doffed his hat. “Evenin' Miss Marjorie. Miss Charlotte.”

The two women caught up to Jed and Octavius, and the four stopped.

“So,” said the shorter woman, “Who's your friend, Jed?”

“This,” Jed said, throwing an arm around Octavius's shoulder, “Is Octavius. Octavius, this is Charlotte—” gesturing to the shorter girl, “and Marjorie Jones,” gesturing to the taller.

“How do you do,” Octavius said, politely nodding.

“Mutual, I'm sure,” said Charlotte, tucking one of her blonde curls back, her fingers lingering on the lobe of her ear.

Marjorie shot a look at her sister—one of clear annoyance at Charlotte's obvious flirtation. Then, she turned her attention to Octavius.

“My, what a getup you've got on, Octavius. Don't think I've seen you in somethin' like that before.”

Octavius shifted from one foot to another. “Well, it is a special occasion, Miss Marjorie.”

“It certainly is,” Marjorie replied as the four of them continued toward the barn, “D'y'know how long it's been since we've got any new buildings? It's—”

“It's simply been ages!” Charlotte interrupted.

“Char-lotte, what have I told you 'bout interruptin'?”

“I know, I know, but I'm just so excited! Ain't you excited, boys?”

“Sure am, Charlotte, sure am.” Jed felt his hackles rising. This was definitely not what he had planned, but Charlotte had always been nosy. It was a miracle Marjorie was there to keep her in line. Still, even her presence was...grating, in a way it usually wasn't.

But finally, they made their way into the crowd, and the girls were distracted by acquaintances and friends. Charlotte managed to ask both Jed and Octavius to save her a dance before Marjorie succeeded in pulling her away.

Both Jed and Octavius released a breath. “They mean well, I guess,” Jed explained, placing his hat back on his head, “Nobody quite likes to hang out with 'em, on account of them bein' the preacher's girls.”

“I...am not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Well, I'm guessin' when your dad's up there at the pulpit every Sunday tellin' everybody 'bout fire and brimstone and hell an' all that, you're not exactly gonna get a lot of people over for dinner the other nights a' the week.”

“I see.” (He didn't get it, really, but didn't want to seem too obtuse.)

A loud clanging broke the conversations around them, as an older woman beat a large brass bell.

“COME AN' GIT IT!”

A largely positive noise rose from the crowd, with a few scattered “yee-haw!”s. Everyone began to mob toward the barn.

“What are we getting?” Octavius asked, bemused.

Jed grinned.

“Food!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning: this chapter has a brief usage of the word “queer” in a negative context. But don't worry—our boys don't stand for that. :)

The inside of the barn was positively cavernous. Octavius supposed that was because it hadn't been filled with old John Peters's farming paraphernelia, but even then, it would be rather large. All the mingled voices of the crowd echoed back from the rafters, and made it seem as though there were twice the number of people present. The smells, too. Fresh pine, and hay, and other savory smells that made Octavius's mouth water. There was a small stage set up on the far side of the barn, and a large area of tamped-down dirt cleared for dancing. There was a long line of tables along one side of the barn, where people were gathered and clambering for the contents: food. 

Octavius noticed Jed loosing a pack around his belt.

“You got a mess kit?” Jed asked.

“...Mess kit?”

Jed was pulling a plate from his belt and some utensils from the pack. Ah. So that was a mess kit.

“No. No, I haven't got one.”

Jed shrugged. “That's all right. We can share. It ain't like you got germs or somethin', right?” Jed added, nudging Octavius with his elbow.

Octavius blushed. Sharing food? They were going to share food. He wasn't sure what that meant, or why he was nervous about it. It was just food. On the same plate. With Jedediah. It's nothing. Totally nothing. Everything was fine.

“You can use the fork if you want, I'm good with my hands,” Jed said, passing the fork.

Octavius choked back a squeak at the possible double entendre, and took the fork. 

He watched as Jedediah piled the plate high with more food than seemed reasonable. Jed gasped as he spotted a pile of flat cakes.

“Hell yeah, hoecakes! Octy, grab a couple 'a those!”

Octavius did so, trying to register the nickname Jed had just used.

Satisfied with the copious amount of food on his plate—which was nothing compared to the copious amount of food still left on the tables—Jed jerked his head toward a pile of hay in a quieter corner of the barn. “C'mon, Octy, this way,” Jed had to shout over the din. Octavius was tempted to grab on to Jed's free hand so he didn't get lost in the crowd. But he resisted—barely.

Jed plopped down on the hay, and Octavius sat a bit more carefully, trying to ignore how scratchy the hay was against his bare legs.

“Dig in, partner!”

Octavius politely took a bite of one of the hoecakes, then immediately went in for another mouthful, and made a noise that was somewhere between “oh” and “mmm”. Jedediah laughed around a mouthful of chicken, wiping the grease from his chin with his shirtsleeve.

“Good, right?” Jed said. “I'm savin' mine for last.” Jed proffered his plate, and Octavius was happy to join him in devouring the food. He almost forgot that there were other people around them, even though the crowd around them was overwhelmingly present. 

The two chatted off and on between mouthfuls; the usual subject matter of their previous escapades, and the many shenanigans to come. But Octavius couldn't help but also hear a conversation happening just a few piles of hay over.

“Gee, he sure is handsome, isn't he, Marjie?” He recognized Charlotte's dainty voice from earlier.

The second voice was trying to be hushed, furtive—her sister, no doubt. “Say, brainless, ain't you got eyes? You haven't got a shot.” 

An offended tinge. “And why not?”

A touch of annoyance, and overpatience. “He ain't interested in women.”

A gasp. Then, perhaps a bit too loudly: “He's a queer?”

Octavius registered the urgent shushing noise, but it was a bit too late for that. The word resounded in his mind. Queer. He'd never heard the word before, but given the context of the conversation, he quickly deduced what it meant. And given the revulsion behind Charlotte's voice, he felt that being queer must be a very, very bad thing, indeed. He felt like his heart sank through the barn floor. He felt the red coming into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. And he felt something he hadn't in a very long time: shame. He looked down at his lap under the guise of picking his next bite of food.

“Hey.”

Octavius looked up at Jedediah, doing his best not to look affected. But to his surprise, Jed looked downright pissed. His cheeks were starting to flush too. There was a sincerity in Jed's stark blue eyes that Octavius had rarely seen, and its intensity startled him.

“Don't pay them any mind, got it?”

“But, I don't—”

“No 'buts', pardner. They're hypocrites. All that talk in the Bible about not gossipin', and here they are, chattin' away like the addle-headed slang-whangers they are.”

Octavius pretended to know what 'addle-headed slang-whanger' meant.

“And anyway,” Jed continued, “I don't see why it should matter who you hit the hay with.”

Octavius's heart started to pick itself back up. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Ain't nobody's business but the Good Lord's, and frankly, I don't think he minds none.”

And now Octavius's heart was in his throat. So there was a chance. A single, faint chance that perhaps, in some wild, far-off way, Jedediah might return his affections. A small smile broke Octavius's melancholy. His back straightened. No god cared—not his own Roman gods, nor Jedediah's God. No one important cared at all.

Footsteps behind Octavius's back, and the cloud on Jedediah's brow lifted.

“Well, howdy, John!” Jed exclaimed, getting to his feet. Octavius followed suit, and saw John Peters, the farmer, approaching, hand outstretched. Jedediah took it in an emphatic handshake, patting John's back with the other.

“Howdy, Jed!” John Peters's voice was reedy, but loud enough to be heard over the crowd. Then he took notice of Octavius, giving him a once-over, squinting. “And how're you doin', boy?”

“I'm well.” Octavius replied. Then, remembering his satchel: “And, I have something for you. Some house—er, barn-warming presents.”

A smile split across John Peters's face, showing his teeth—more than a few of which were missing.

Octavius bent and retrieved his satchel. He removed the lyre first, tucking it under his arm as he dug out the other contents. He withdrew his hand with a tall, smooth ceramic jar, stopped with a piece of cork. A date was inscribed on the base, as well as a name.

“This,” Octavius explained as he handed the jar to John Peters, “is honeyed wine—a particular favorite of mine, especially for celebrations such as this.”

“Why, that's awful kind of ya'!” John Peters smiled, looking at the bottle, “Thanks! Say,” John Peters continued, “What'cha got there? Some kinda harp?”

Jed noticed the lyre as well, and his eyes sparked with curiosity.

“I didn't know you could play music, Octavius,” Jed remarked.

“Oh! It—it's just my lyre. That was—ah...that was the other part of my barn-warming present. I, ah...”

Oh, no. Was this...dumb? Was writing a song as a barn-warming present dumb? But, well, Octavius was already halfway through the sentence. There was no backing out now.

“I...wrote some music. To celebrate your new barn.”

To Octavius's surprise, John Peters's smile broadened, and a mischevous twinkle came to his eyes.

“Well, I'll be! C'mon!” John Peters threw his arm around Octavius with a startling, unusual amount of strength for someone so wiry. John's intentions became immediately clear as he cut a path straight for the small stage. 

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no. 

“I—I am flattered, Mr. Peters, but I—I'm not—”

“Oh, I'm sure it's great, Octavius, everybody's gonna want to hear it!”

“But I don't know if—”

“Aw, c'mon, it'll be great!” 

John Peters dragged him up onto the bandstand and clapped his hands to try and gain attention. And when that didn't work, he mustered up the loudest voice he could and shouted:

“LISTEN UP Y'ALL!”

The ruckus fell silent as all eyes turned to the bandstand. For as spindly and bent as John Peters was, he had a magnetism that held the attention of the Westerners.

“I would like to thank y'all,” John began, “for comin' and celebratin' my new barn. I'm sure Rexy would've loved to come, but I ain't too sure that would be a good idea.”

A ripple of polite laughter.

“Now, I think it's high time we started up some music,” John continued, before being cut off with some excited shouts, and the shuffling of opening guitar cases. John still held enough of the crowd's attention that he didn't have to shout again.

“And I have got the perfect opener!” John grabbed Octavius's arm like a vice and yanked him forward into the center of attention. Octavius tried his best to not look like he wanted to sink into a hole in the ground and never come back out.

“Ol' Octavius here has written somethin' special for this very occasion! Everybody give him a hand!”

And with that, John Peters leapt off the side of the stage, leaving Octavius, alone on the bandstand, nervously clutching his lyre amid a wave of tentative applause from the still-seated crowd.

Octavius hadn't anticipated playing alone. Sure, he was okay with playing his lyre while everybody else was playing their various instruments. But alone? And in a crowd that he already felt strange in? Octavius was this close to quietly apologizing, and abandoning the stage in a rush of reddened cheeks and pure, concentrated humiliation.

But then he saw Jedediah. 

He was sitting front and center, one leg outstretched, the other bent. He held himself up with one arm, and dangled the other over his bent, upright knee. In fact, Jedediah struck a figure almost like a Roman fresco. But it was his eyes that really caught Octavius. Those stark blue eyes met his, and Jedediah bent his head forward in a nod, eyebrows raising, and a crooked smile tugging at his all-too-attractive, all-too-pink lips.

Octavius swallowed the knot in his throat. Then, he sat carefully on the stage, positioned his lyre, and began.

/// 

Octavius was something else.

He was really something else.

First of all, Jedediah hadn't known Octavius could play any kind of instrument at all, even at a mediocre level. But as Octavius played his lyre, it became clear that not only could he play, but he could play really well. Jedediah had never been much for instrumental music, but when Octavius played...well now, that was another story.

It was magic. Really, it was. The music floated over his head, like nothing he'd ever heard before. It was delicate, something that was pretty hard to come by in the West, and something which Jedediah normally didn't telegraph that he liked. But he did. He liked delicate things. He liked gentle things. And if a song could be gentle, then by God, this song was. It had started out making Jed feel a little sad, but then, it picked up until it felt like...well, Jed reckoned it felt like home. Like looking over the Western diorama when everybody was just settling down at the end of the night. Like when everyone in the museum would come together for some celebration or another.

Like sitting next to that campfire with Octavius, quiet and still, but inside, feeling a million beautiful things all at once.

That wasn't even mentioning how Octavius looked as he was playing. Jedediah had never noticed how agile Octavius's fingers were, and a tiny part of him wondered what else he could do with those hands. But Octavius's face was the most striking. It was calm—complete calm. A sort of calm that Jedediah had never seen before. He'd seen a lot of Octavius's facial expressions; he'd seen furious, laughing, worried (a bit more than he would've cared for). Octavius's mildly-annoyed-but-still-humored eye roll was one of Jedediah's favorites. But this complete tranquility—brow neither raised nor lowered, dark eyes narrowed slightly with concentration, the smallest of smiles tugging at one corner of a mouth that Jedediah had imagined kissing more times than he'd care to admit; Octavius's peaceful expression was his new favorite.

The song ended, and he realized he could have listened to Octavius play forever.

Jedediah Smith sat up and gave the most enthusiastic, loudest, most-”yee-haw”-ing-est applause he could manage.


	4. Chapter 4

Octavius hardly noticed the polite, and slightly confused, applause from the majority of the Westerners. He barely noticed the exchanged glances, and the furrowed brows.

Octavius only noticed Jedediah. Jedediah, and just how ludicrous and adorable he was.

“WOOO! YEAH! WAY TO GO, PARTNER!”

He hardly thought his performance was worth all of that “hootin' and hollerin'”, as Jed would put it, but Octavius was grateful for it. As he jumped off the stage, it was with a smile, with a laugh coming to his lips as his feet hit the ground.

Jedediah leapt up to meet him, and wrapped him in a tight, back-slapping embrace. Octavius's heart was pounding so hard that he was sure Jedediah could feel it against his ribcage. Octavius expected him to release after two or three seconds, like he always did. But instead, one of Jedediah's hands moved to the back of Octavius's neck, sending a shiver down Octavius's spine. They rocked in place, two, three, five seconds longer than normal. And when they finally released, Octavius felt like he could fly.

“Well? What are we waitin' for? C'mon, boys!”

A smattering of jubilant shouts, the opening of instrument cases, and a few warm-up twangs, and the bandstand filled up with Westerners, bearing all manner of instruments: guitars, various sizes of fiddles, banjos, and even what Octavius recognized as a washboard. How on Earth a washboard could be used as an instrument, Octavius had no idea. But before he knew it, he found out exactly how; the band began to play.

The crowd immediately shifted into two groups: those who did not want to dance, strayed to the edges of the barn. The rest—a large majority, at that—mingled in the newly-cleared area, pairing off and beginning to move in time to the tune the string band was playing. 

Jedediah beamed, pulling Octavius back to their spot by the arm.

“C'mon, Octy!” Jedediah said, excitement peppered in his voice. “Put your harp away and let's dance!”

Fumbling with his satchel and stowing the harp away, Octavius tried to explain.

“Jedediah, I'm not particularly good at dancing.”

“I'll teach ya!”

And Jedediah grabbed Octavius's hand. By Jupiter, Jove, and Pluto, Jedediah had taken his hand. Before he had time to fully absorb that fact, however, Jedediah's other hand found Octavius's waist. The pressure of Jed's hand there, just above his hip, sent tendrils of warmth through Octavius's body, coiling in the base of his belly, and Octavius could hardly stand it, but didn't want it to stop.

Jedediah didn't seem to notice the effect he was having.

“Here,” he shouted above the music, “Put your other hand on my shoulder.”

Octavius did so, feeling the lean, toned muscle underneath Jedediah's shirt, and trying not to be too obvious about it.

“Now, this is the two-step. It's the easiest thing in the whole wide world, you'll get it in no time,” Jedediah said. “Follow what I do.”

Jedediah moved his left foot forward, and Octavius moved his right foot backward (mainly so he wouldn't get stepped on). Then Jed moved his right foot forward, Octavius mirroring his movement. Left foot again, this time, moving to the left. Octavius stumbled over his own feet as Jedediah moved his right foot next to his left, and Jedediah laughed.

“That's all it is, pardner,” he reassured Octavius, “Two steps forward, two steps to the side. Shall we?”

Octavius couldn't help the broad grin that cracked across his face.

“Yes. Yes, we shall.”

They stayed along the outside of the floor—Jedediah figured that getting too far int the crowd would be a little overwhelming. Two steps forward, two side. Octavius kept looking down at his feet, and he stumbled once or twice, but he got the hang of it. Two steps forward, two to the side. Jedediah felt Octavius's muscles start to ease, and his hand became looser, more confident, in his. Jed's hand started to slowly pull Octavius forward as he guided him two steps forward until the two were pressed into each other two to the side. Jedediah delighted in the feel of Octavius's chest rising and falling against his, the little rumbles when he would laugh. God, he loved hearing Octavius laugh. It vibrated, not only in Octavius's chest, but through the air that separated them—and boy howdy, how Jedediah wished he could close that gap.

Before Jedediah could dwell on that thought for too long, the band ended their song, and the crowd broke into applause. It took a bit longer than what would be considered “usual” for Jedediah and Octavius to separate. Neither seemed to care.

///

“You like him, don't you?”

Jedediah looked over his shoulder at the intrusion. Marjorie was standing behind him, arms crossed, look knowing. Presently, Jedediah was leaning his forearms on the fence surrounding John Peters' property. He had decided to take a moment alone. Of course, he hadn't left Octavius to fend for himself, necessarily. John Peters had cracked open the honeyed wine, and wanted to know how the Romans could hold their liquor. Octavius had actually seemed pretty comfortable with the group he found himself in—that group being John Peters, and the older railroaders, who seemed to accept the Roman's relative eccentricity. 

Jedediah huffed out a sigh, turning halfway to face her.

“I don't know what you're talkin' about, Miss Marjorie.”

“Oh, for God's sake, Jed, nix the 'miss', would'ja?”

“Oh, yeah, 'cause I wanna be friendly with you.”

Marjorie bit her lip, arms falling to her sides.

“Yeah, that's right,” Jedediah continued, “I heard you and your sister talkin'. And, more importantly, so did Octavius. You know how much that hurt him?”

“Jed, my sister's a damned idiot. She didn't mean no harm.”

“Yeah, well. She did some.”

“You're not answering my question.”

Jedediah turned back around, shifting his weight side to side. His eyes lingered in the dirt in front of him, as if it were some friendly face there that he would rather be looking at.

Marjorie moved next to him, mirroring his position.

“I seen the way you look at him,” she started. “I seen you two dancin' earlier. And I think—”

“Oh, what do you think? You gonna try an' talk me out of it, or somethin'? 'Cause it ain't gonna work.”

Marjorie raised her eyebrows.

“So you do like him?”

Jedediah didn't reply, but kept staring at the ground, his jaw firmly set.

Marjorie took a deep breath and leaned toward him.

“Well, what I was gonna say before you so rudely interrupted me, was that I think y'all'd look cute together.”

Jed's ears perked as he heard Octavius's full-hearted laugh soar above all the rest of the voices and music emanating from the barn. Even from this distance, Octavius had the power to speed up Jedediah's heart beyond what was normal.

Marjorie smiled, watching the blush crawl up Jedediah's cheeks to his ears.

“I should probably go apologize to him, too,” she said, pushing herself up off the fence and turning to go. Then, as she made her way back up the path to the barn door, she added, “You should tell him. I think he's taken a shine to you, too.”

Jedediah finally looked up, only to see Marjorie's back as she disappeared back into the crowd.

Tell Octavius. Tell Octavius. It didn't feel like an idea, so much as a command that he couldn't ignore; like a string attached to something deep inside him, that kept pulling him, gently, but insistently, toward Octavius. Always toward Octavius. Octavius, and his soft, dark hair; his smile that made Jedediah feel like his chest was filling up with air, and that he would float away any minute; his eyes, which were even more beautiful when they were filled with affection than they ever were when the Romans and Westerners had been enemies. Octavius. Octavius. 

Yes. He would tell Octavius. He would tell Octavius just how he felt. And he did something that he'd never done before: he hoped Marjorie had been right about something. Because if Octavius had the same feelings towards him...well. That'd be just fine. Just fine indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

Octavius still wasn't sure how he'd gotten himself into this.

One minute, he was drinking with John Peters, who was complimentary of the newly-opened honeyed wine. Then, the next, a small group of surly cowboys and railwaymen were proffering flasks full of all manner of liquors.

“This ain't nothin'!” one cowboy disparaged another, his lengthy gray whiskers wagging as he spoke. He snorted, pulling a flask from a pocket in his leather vest. “Now this'll put some hair on yer chest.”

The cowboy unscrewed the cap of the flask and passed it to Octavius. Octavius quirked an eyebrow, nose crinkling as he smelled the alcohol inside.

“What is it?” he asked.

“That there,” the cowboy replied, pointing at the flask, “is some West Virginia applejack. My cousin back east makes it, sent me on the road with enough to share—if'n a' course,” he continued, face smug, “the Roman can hold his liquor.”

And, well, Octavius wasn't about to take that lying down. He craved the respect of the Westerners, and, if passing this bizarre test would get it, then by the gods, he'd drink what he was offered. He steeled himself, sucking in a breath, and put the flask to his lips, sipping some into his mouth.

It burned. It absolutely burned, like nothing else he'd ever drank before—seeing as distilled alcohol hadn't been invented in Rome yet. But damned if Octavius was going to cough. He gulped, determined to not show any weakness. He was baffled at the sensation of burning flowing down his throat and into his stomach, but relieved that it eventually dissipated, and left behind a pleasant taste of apple.

The cowboy seemed pleased, chuckling, leaning forward to take the flask back.

“And he can,” he said, toasting to Octavius, then taking a much longer pull on the applejack. Octavius could already feel a pleasant sort of warmth spreading through his chest, and into his head. But he couldn't show that it was affecting him. 

That was when another cowboy leaned in, a black hat slung low, chortling.

“You an' yer apple juice,” he quipped. This cowboy reached for his belt, where he had a specially-made pocket for a flask. And just as Octavius was wondering just how in the blazes every cowboy in this place had some kind of hip flask, the black-hatted cowboy shoved it into Octavius's hands.

“Now that,” he said with the sort of pride you'd normally hear out of a parent talking about their child's accomplishments, “is what yer lookin' for.”

The cowboy with the long whiskers huffed and rolled his eyes.

“Aw, hell. Is that yer homemade stuff? Smells like turpentine, tastes like it, too.”

“No it don't! Yer just soft!”

The long-whiskered cowboy leaned conspiratorially toward Octavius.

“Jus' pretend, boy. Trust me, you don't want any a' that.”

“Naw, naw,” the black-hatted cowboy shook his head. “He can handle it. Come on, bottom's up!”

“Hey, Octavius!”

Just as he was about to take a sip (which felt like the last act he would ever commit), Jedediah came in from outside the barn. Octavius was immediately struck by the look in Jedediah's blue eyes. There was a determination there that produced a kind of shuddering inside of Octavius's stomach. Or maybe that was just the applejack. He couldn't quite tell. But whatever it was, he liked it.

“Can I grab you for a sec?” Jedediah phrased it as a question, but it felt more like a statement. He was up to something, that much Octavius knew for sure. As he stood up (on slightly wobbly knees), John Peters raised a hand to get Jedediah's attention.

“Jed,” he said, “I need you to do somethin' for me. Would'ja check and make sure the wreath is in place up in the loft? Octavius can go with ya if you want.”

Jedediah smiled and nodded.

“Sure thing, John. Come on, Octy.”

“Wreath?” Octavius asked as they walked away, shouldering through the crowd.

“It's traditional,” Jedediah answered, straightening the ladder leading into the loft, “to put a wreath or a flag in the highest place in a new barn. Brings luck. Up we get.”

Jedediah clambered up the ladder with relative ease. Octavius, meanwhile, was having a slower go at it. He wasn't drunk persay, but he was feeling woozy enough that climbing the ladder was a bit more arduous than normal. Jedediah had reached the top, and was looking over the ledge. He smirked. 

“You ain't never had liquor before, have you?”

Octavius shook his head, a little bit timid.

“But I assure you, Jedediah, I am perfectly—”

The sentence cut off in a little yipe as his foot missed its target. Jedediah's hand shot down and clasped Octavius's arm, pulling him up into the loft.

“You sure are,” Jedediah laughed, in a voice that sounded like a wink. “C'mon. Let's look for that wreath.”

///

The loft was empty, and quieter than the rest of the barn below. The new pine planks released their scent into the air, along with the piles of fresh hay scattered here and there. The lights from below echoed into the rafters, washing the cavernous room with a soft amber glow. It was a little cooler than the lower level, but Jed still felt like he was sweating through his shirt. But that, he reckoned, was for a different reason.

Jed was right grateful to John Peters for suggesting that Octavius come along with him. All these years later, John Peters always seemed to know what was going on, without having to be told. There'd been a glint in John's eye as he suggested the errand, as if he knew that Jedediah needed privacy for what he was about to do.

“So, we're looking for a wreath?” Octavius asked, getting to his feet.

“Yep,” Jedediah replied. “It'll be up in the rafters somewhere. C'mon, you look along that side.”

The two of them started to walk around the space, eyes up, looking for a pine wreath that they weren't sure existed. Jedediah tried his best to calm himself down, eyes following the lines of the rafters.

“Octavius?”

“Hm?”

I think I love you. “Have you ever thought about...you know...”

“Thought about what, Jedediah?”

Jed looked over to Octavius, across the room, moving parallel to him. Octavius's dark eyes were still raised to the ceiling. He was biting his lip—he always did that when he was concentrating, and Jedediah always found it cute. There was a pink flush coming to Octavius's face; it was a favorable sign. It had to be.

Jed took a deep breath. 

“Well, have you ever...ever gotten all...romantical? With anyone?”

Octavius's eyes left the rafters and met Jedediah's. Octavius's chest rose, and his mouth opened, as if he was ready to respond. But the reply didn't come right away. His eyes went down to the floor as he kept walking. The blush deepened.

“...No.”

Jedediah's eyebrows shot up under the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Really? Handsome devil like you, I'd thought you'd have those Romans fallin' at your feet.”

Octavius laughed, but his eyes still traced the floorboards. 

“Well, I suppose...I'd had offers. And I've accepted one or two. But...I never really connected. I never really felt...'romantical'.”

They'd both reached the same end of the loft, but Octavius kept his eyes everywhere but Jedediah's. God, even when he was nervous, he was beautiful. Jedediah leaned on one leg, arms lying limp at his sides.

“Never?”

Octavius shook his head. 

“Did you ever want to? You know...connect with someone like that?”

Octavius met Jedediah's gaze. His pupils were widening, almost enough to rival the dark brown of his irises. One of his eyebrows raised, ever so slightly, just enough to denote surprise—or anticipation. Something tugged at the edge of Octavius's mouth as he answered.

“I think I already have, Jedediah Smith.”

Jedediah's voice was so soft he could hardly hear it himself.

“With who, Octavius?”

Octavius reached forward and brushed a lock of Jedediah's hair out of his face. The other drifted toward Jedediah's hand, fingers lacing loosely together. Octavius's smile broadened.

“I think you already know.”

Here it is. Moment of truth. Jedediah felt his breath leave him in a nervous laugh.

“Octy. I've got somethin to tell you.”

“I'm sure you do.” And, to Jedediah's utter elation, Octavius's mouth met his.

Octavius's lips were as soft as they looked, and boy howdy, when they started moving, it was something else. A thought ran like ticker tape across Jedediah's mind: “He likes me. He likes me. He likes me.” Jed felt Octavius's hands move, cupping his jaw, holding Jedediah right where he was. Jed wound his arms around Octavius's back, trying to hold himself upright. His legs were starting to go weak beneath him, with the surprise of it all, with the excitement, and with the simple factor of a lack of oxygen. Jed had never been happier to be out of breath.

Octavius was seemingly of the same mind, because as he pulled back, he inhaled, deeply, sharply, hard enough that Jedediah could feel the air move. The breath then came shuddering back out into space, wavering with the effort to keep control, and with a breathless laugh.

Jedediah blinked once, twice. Did that really just happen? He released his own breath in a low whistle.

“Lordy lou,” he whispered.

“That was...”

“Why the sam hill did we wait that long?”

Octavius let out a deep, quiet laugh that was more of a rumble than anything. One of his hands moved to the back of Jedediah's neck.

“Well...you were always stubborn.”

“Me? I'm the one that's stubborn?”

“Jedediah, I have never been shy about my feelings towards you. It was only a matter of waiting for you to come around to it. And I—” Octavius continued, pressing a quick kiss to Jedediah's lips, “I am so grateful that the waiting is finally over.”

Oh, Lord. How long had he kept Octavius waiting? How long had he left Octavius in the cold? How long had Octavius been hurting, in much the same way Jedediah had—hurting for the lack of the other in his arms?

Right then, Jedediah Smith felt smaller than—well, smaller than he already was. 

Jed brought his hand up to the one still on his cheek, taking it in his own, and, surprising even himself, pressed a kiss to the knuckles there.

“I should've told you sooner.”

“Oh, cara. What is done is done, and forgiven.”

Octavius moved his hand to bring Jedediah's face level with his. Octavius's eyes...Jed figured he could drown inside his eyes. If he could spend the rest of forever standing here, in the loft of John Peters's barn, with Octavius holding him, kissing him—well, that'd just be swell.

“But we mustn't waste what time we have with those regrets. We're here, now. And that's all that matters.”

Jed couldn't help it. The way Octavius's voice vibrated through the air, the way fingers were toying with the blond curls at the nape of his neck, the way his other hand was clutched in his—Jed couldn't help himself. He leaned back in, ready to feel weightless and beloved once again.

Jed was certainly grateful for the luck the wreath had brought them, hanging, knowingly, above their heads.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much for reading to the end of this little thing. I'm thinking about writing more, and possibly making this part of a series. Maybe Jedediah will go to Rome...? Stay tuned!


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